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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25378453">wine glass full of pennies</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerdayghost/pseuds/summerdayghost'>summerdayghost</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Alienist (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Vampire, Character Turned Into Vampire, Dubious Morality, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 10:49:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,336</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25378453</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerdayghost/pseuds/summerdayghost</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>That night at Paresis Hall changed John.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>John Moore/Joseph</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Multifandom Horror Exchange (2020)</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>wine glass full of pennies</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachis/gifts">peachis</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When John woke up on Laszlo’s couch after that night at Paresis Hall, the light hurt his eyes. That was not as alarming as the multitude of questions he had about his situation and the gaps he found in his memory when he tried to answer them for himself. Something was blocked within his brain, and not assuming the worst was difficult. The things he had seen recently had shaken him up terribly. He still was not over seeing George Santorelli’s body. Probably never would be.</p><p>John had been hungover before. More times than he could have counted even if he had wanted to. He was a fuck up, pure and simple, but at least he was managing, which was more than could be said of many men John knew that never touched a bottle. Sure, the circumstances leading to this feeling were far outside usual, but John did not see why that should make much of a difference. It was the exact same kind of disorientation if maybe a little bit stronger this time.</p><p>So the way that the light seemed far too bright was not a priority for John. Except maybe it should have been. Usually the sensitivity eased over time, but this time it did not. This time it did not go away at all.</p><p>***</p><p>He really should have known something was wrong when he drank whiskey a few days later. Or rather when he tried to drink whiskey. That would be the more accurate way to put it considering that he spit it out sputtering and coughing within seconds.</p><p>If he had been forced to describe it John would have said it was like he had poured fire down his own throat blistering and bubbling and melting his insides. The actual sensation was gone in an instant, but it was burned into his mind. If he was not careful every detail would replay.</p><p>Of course John was entirely alone when this happened so he did not have to describe it to anyone. He briefly wondered if someone had tried to poison him. They had been accumulating enemies lately. Putting acid in a man’s liquor was not something John would put above Captain Connor. Especially considering his association with people like Paul Kelly who certainly had no problem with messing with a man’s drink.</p><p>Upon further inspection John found no injury to himself externally or internally. Well, the internal part was a hasty guess formed based on a lack of continued pain, but it was good enough for John. This was likely the result of a purely mental break, so John tried his best to not let the episode take up too much space in his head. This did not have to be important if he did not want it to be.</p><p>The next time he was offered a drink he turned it down.</p><p>***</p><p>The first thing John thought when he saw the boy’s body on the roof was what a horrible waste such a killing was. Later he tried to reassure himself by privately insisting that the word waste was in reference to young life, full of opportunity. Unfortunately he was unable to delude himself.</p><p>John had been hungry for a long time, but nothing seemed to sate it. The only thing that had seemed appetizing lately was, disturbingly enough, other people. He was no cannibal, the thought of feasting on flesh made John physically ill, but he understood that when he thought the word waste in that moment he was referring to meat. Wasted meat.</p><p>But more important than the meat was the blood. Technically it was still there, still drinkable, but it was no longer any good. John was horrified when he found himself comparing the boy’s blood to wine that had turned into vinegar.</p><p>Oh these were thoughts he should not be having and absolutely could not share. What Laszlo would do with this John did not know, and John did not care to find out. It was not his time to be out under a microscope. Not when he was not the one murdering boys.</p><p>He blamed Laszlo for these thoughts anyway. All this work trying to understand a monster was clearly warping him beyond recognition. If it was this bad for him he could not imagine what it must have been like for Laszlo. Perhaps Laszlo would actually kill soon in an attempt to unlock something, to find that missing puzzle piece. Then again, Laszlo had a way of remaining cold and unaffected in most situations. Most.</p><p>***</p><p>The boy called himself Bernadette at first. It took some coaxing to get the word Joseph past his lips. John guessed that was fair. Heaven knew that if John were in these circumstances as a lad a gentleman would be the last sort of man he would trust.</p><p>Joseph’s makeup made John dizzy. The disgust was overwhelming. Disgust at Scotch Ann, disgust at the killer still at large, disgust at men who bought the bodies of children for pleasure, disgust at himself, disgust at the whole world except for Joseph. He alone stood as pure.</p><p>Of course the disgust was not the only element. His cheeks were tinted with rouge in an imitation of a blush. The sight evoked a strange feeling somewhere just to the left of hunger. Thoughts of what John had learned about the circulatory system during his schooling raced through his mind.</p><p>He wiped Joseph’s makeup off.</p><p>***</p><p>“I was shocked when I heard about George,” Joseph said with no prompting, “Still shocked.”</p><p>John put a hand on Joseph’s shoulder hoping his attempt to convey sympathy would not come across as something else entirely to a boy with his specific experiences, “What happened to him was quite horrendous.”</p><p>Joseph was staring up at the sky as if he was trying to find that castle his late friend had been promised, “I didn’t realize he could be killed at all. Most of the ones at Paresis Hall can’t.”</p><p>The sentiment was so naive that it could have punched John in the throat. While John was never exactly unaware of what Joseph was, moments like this still managed to sneak up on him. Joseph was still a child, not yet grown enough to understand that invulnerability does not exist even with the protection of someone like Paul Kelly.</p><p>***</p><p>One of the first things John learned about Joseph as a person rather than as a professional or a witness was that Joseph liked root beer. This was not unusual, John had yet to meet anyone who despised the stuff, but it was something.</p><p>Buying him a soda was likely an unnecessary bribe for further information, but John did not mind. While Joseph’s joy was not exaggerated or even all that noticeable, John still managed to find vicarious satisfaction in it. He would chalk this up to childhood nostalgia if it weren’t for the much redder liquid John imagined in the glass instead of the root beer.</p><p>***</p><p>Joseph slid closer to John, “Sal told me that you taste sweet.”</p><p>John blinked slowly, “Sweet?”</p><p>That was not the only question he could have asked about what Joseph had just said. John could have also inquired as to the identity of this Sal but he remembered the boy who called himself Sally that led him by the hand down the hall into his doom. As a gambling man he liked the odds that Sal and Sally were one and the same just as Joseph and Bernadette were (even if John allowed himself to think of Bernadette in ways that he really should not have). The taste part was far more mysterious, and John was praying that Joseph would deny the vulgar possibilities coming into his mind.</p><p>“Well, whenever Sal describes the exact taste the analogy he uses is a handful of pennies,” Joseph’s face scrunched up in vague distaste, “Not exactly my thing, but you know how it is for them. Their appetites have nothing in common with our’s. Ernest compares it to candy, which I’m sure is accurate for him, but I also get the impression he wants to trick me.”</p><p>“Joseph,” John felt horribly unintelligent in the moment, like there was some vital context he was missing and it was entirely his fault that he was missing it.</p><p>“Ernest is a natural at the sale, and more loyal to Mr. Kelly than I ever could be to old Scotch Ann. Gets to the point where I think he forgets that he's just a product to him but he never forgets that about the rest of us,” the ghost of a smile danced across Joseph’s lips, “Sal ain’t much better. Dramatic old bat, but well, you’ve seen him. He’s pretty so I don’t really mind listening to him all that much.”</p><p>“Naturally,” was the only word John found within himself.</p><p>Lately John had been wasting away. His morals had clearly gone with the rest of his spirit if the way he could not stop himself from peering into Joseph’s face and finding it lovely was any indication. All that his mind seemed to want to process was how he should not have considered the boy next to him beautiful and the recently established connection between copper and candy.</p><p>“Your boy must not have gone easy on you last time,” Joseph looked John up and down, “You’re so pale.”</p><p>“Am I?” John did not think he looked any worse than he usually did even considering that it was the daytime and he should have been resting. When that became John’s default opinion about the day he was not sure.</p><p>“At the Golden Rule we aren’t like they are at Paresis Hall, and you ought to come around there a little less,” Joseph looked away from John, “and here a little more. You gotta be careful not to play with those boys too much. There are consequences.”</p><p>If John were his old self the weak sales pitch would have turned his stomach if he registered it at all, but he had already suffered the repercussions of Paresis Hall even if he was just shy of being aware of it.</p><p>***</p><p>Three days and three nights later John was still fixated on the idea of tasting a handful of pennies. He used to have a real appreciation for high cuisine, technically he still did considering that he had no problems eating anything like his issues with drinking, and yet his mind could still reduce him to this. To a pathetic animal. Worse than an animal, more like a beast.</p><p>The only thing that stopped John from licking a bunch of coins or, even worse, swallowing them was the dim awareness that this was not what he was truly looking for.</p><p>Sometimes he dreamt of that night at Paresis Hall. Those dreams held all the answers, but their resemblance to nightmares caused John to dismiss them when he awoke and forget them entirely by breakfast.</p><p>***</p><p>Joseph seemed fundamentally different from the other working boys John was familiar with. That is when all of the dead ones were excluded as John could not speak to their nature. It was just that the other ones John had encountered, the ones at Paresis Hall, were so cold. Imagining someone wanting to disrobe with them was difficult when just being in the same room made John want to button up his coat. When Sally led him by the hand it chilled John down to the bone, so deeply it never quite went away. John’s own hands were still frozen to the touch even after all this time and several attempts to warm them by any means necessary including fire. Perhaps whatever made those boys so cold was just a part of John now and would be for all time.</p><p>In contrast Joseph was warm. More fire than boy some nights, he radiated heat even when he shivered. It was this warmth that John craved.</p><p>***</p><p>Joseph felt just right in John’s lap. The fact that John wanted him there in the first place was proof enough that he had finally reached the insanity he once feared yet he was powerless to stop himself. Apathy towards everything he used to value combined with burning, genuine desire created the strongest force within John that he had ever known. Death was a slow and transformative process when experienced like this.</p><p>From the way Joseph softly grabbed John’s forearm and slowly rose it, John was expecting a tender kiss to the wrist, right where his pulse point would have been if he still had a pulse (not that John had exactly noticed back when that stopped). Wouldn’t that have been romantic? What John was not expecting was a slash to the wrist from a dull pocket knife.</p><p>Anger coursed through John but he did not move a muscle. The pain he felt was not physical, the actual cut while jagged was annoying at worst. What bothered John was the betrayal, and that was why John made sure not to do anything rash. He needed to understand what had just happened before he could take action.</p><p>“Please,” Joseph with frightened eyes was every bit as frozen as John was, “I’ll stick by your side forever. If that’s what you want. I swear.”</p><p>“It is,” John paused, “I never want you to be hurt.”</p><p>That statement was technically still true even if the waters were murky at the moment.</p><p>“That’s what I was hoping you would say,” Joseph smiled shakily as he raised John’s bleeding wrist towards his mouth.</p><p>The sight and sensation of Joseph licking the blood from his wrist pleased John more than he would have expected it to. This was good. This was meant to happen. John felt himself harden.</p><p>“I just… I don’t wanna die,” before John had any time to react Joseph all but shoved his own neck into John’s mouth.</p><p>When John tore into Joseph’s throat and drank, it was hard to say who this was really an act of mercy towards.</p>
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